


Living Right

by pretense



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretense/pseuds/pretense
Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi is an athlete in his prime, the ace (and the face) of Japan’s national volleyball team. His mind and body honed to perfection in the name of the sport he has dedicated his life to. It has paid off in enviable accolades but despite it all, Ushijima remains steadfast and simple.Despite it all, Ushijima remains a bachelor.





	1. Chapter 1

Ushijima Akane worries about her son sometimes. He is an accomplished athlete, there’s no denying that; she keeps the display case of his childhood trophies in pristine condition for when journalists would drop by and request an audience. Their number doesn’t dwindle over the years and she’s sure there’s only more to come -- both the awards and the media. Wakatoshi’s future is pretty much lain in golden bricks before him and she knows he would never stray from his path. The company he keeps are esteemed from what Akane has gathered in the times he had invited her to join them -- sponsorships and galas, the self-same influential circles Akane has been traversing her whole life.

Wakatoshi is introducing her to what must’ve been the fifth CEO that night when a teammate cuts in -- a towering man with an equally statuesque lady beside him. The gleam of matching rings on their fingers catches Akane’s attention and she remains cordial when Wakatoshi’s teammate appears to recognize her and greets her as such.

“Why you seem to be looking well, madam! Looking younger, even!” Ishida, the teammate, says. “For a second there I thought Ushiwaka finally brought a date.”

Wakatoshi only smiles politely, prompting the CEO in their midst to laugh.

“What’s this?” Mr. Fukuyama jests, clapping Wakatoshi on the shoulder. “Quite the player, are we, Ushijima-kun? On and off the court.”

“Actually, I am not seeing anyone at the moment,” Wakatoshi corrects him.

“Is that so?”

“It’s true,” Ishida grins wryly. “We’ve been on the same team for years and I haven’t seen him with anyone. Loads of admirers, though.”

“My sister is a big fan of yours, Ushijima-san,” Ishida’s wife pitches in. “I can give you her number.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Come now, Ushiwaka,” Ishida says. “Mimi’s sister is really sweet.”

Picking up on her son’s discomfort, Akane smoothly derails the conversation. “I’m sure you’re sister is lovely lady much like yourself,” she tells Mimi.

“Oh, why thank you.” She blushes, hand coming to rest over her chest, the ring around her left finger catching rays from the chandelier above.

Akane smiles, indulgent. “In my day, we used to have _gōkon_ and we meet face to face. You remember those times, Mr. Fukuyama?”

“I try not to,” Mr. Fukuyama inclines his head at Akane. “Never had much of a singing voice to impress the ladies you see.” He beams at the group. “So Ushijima-kun is the old fashioned type, huh?”

Ushijima blinks which is apparently enough confirmation as Fukuyama prattles on. “That’s fine, that’s fine. You keep your focus on winning the league this year.”

“I will.”

Briefly, Akane’s grip tightens around the crook of Wakatoshi’s elbow, pride glowing in her warm honey eyes.

“You too, Ishida-kun,” Mr. Fukuyama says, managing not to make it sound like an afterthought.

* * *

“You _would_ tell me if you are seeing someone, right, Wakatoshi?”

The cab ride is pleasant, city lights blurring through the window. Tokyo traffic has sufficiently waned in the late hour.

“Of course.” Wakatoshi has never been much of an expressive person and Akane mentally berates herself for suddenly springing the question. Admittedly, she was trying to catch him off guard, ears trained to detect the slightest waver in his response but she shouldn’t have bothered. Deception was simply not Wakatoshi’s character.

“A mother never ceases to worry, you know,” Akane humors to cover up her indelicacy.

“There is nothing to worry about,” Wakatoshi assures her.

“Yes, but you _are_ of the marrying age. And all your teammates seem happily paired off,” Akane’s light tone veils the accusation.  “Are you sure you haven’t thought about it?”

“I’m…” Wakatoshi looks at her, pausing to consider his words. “I don’t find marriage to be a priority at the moment.”

“Much less dating,” Akane voices the implication. She touches a hand to his cheek. “My dear you’ve accomplished so much more than any mother could hope for. Never doubt my love.”

There’s an opening for Wakatoshi to interject, to question where she’s leading but he never does. He patiently waits and Akane doesn’t wonder why her son has never had a significant other before; for all his great qualities, he clearly lacks the initiative.

“But there’s just one more thing every mother hopes for, and you’ll forgive me for being so typical.” Akane retracts her hand. “I only want to make sure you won’t be alone.”

“But I am not alone,” Wakatoshi says, serious as ever.

“I’m sure you have friends and acquaintances that will last a lifetime but what I’m asking for is different,” Akane gently corrects. “Would you deny your mother a cute little grandchild to fawn over?”

The weight of her words finally seem to register to Wakatoshi for he looks surprised for a moment. Then he says, “But you never liked children.”

Akane laughs at that.

Their cab slows down in front of an imposing structure, the driver announcing, “We have arrived at our destination.”

Wakatoshi pays and then helps his mother out. Smiling uniformed men welcome them to the hotel lobby where it’s almost bright as day, everything rendered golden by the ambient lights. They head for the elevators, Akane halting before the open carriage.

“I have friends with eligible daughters,” she tells him. “Would you be strongly averse to meeting them?”

Wakatoshi looks to her like a teenager just then, putting up a brave face to please his mother despite his uncertainties. “I… would not mind.” His mouth presses thin and it’s Akane’s turn to patiently await his response. “But my training schedule is rather full.”

“Then we’ll just have to work around that,” Akane says. “I would still have to meet and assess the girls so don’t expect them to be calling so soon.” She puts a hand on his arm, caressing the starched suit. “Don’t worry about it.”

Wakatoshi stares at her for a moment before acquiescing. “Okay.”

“Be careful on your way back.” Akane leans up and Wakatoshi bows his impressive frame so she could peck at his cheek.

“I will.”

“You don’t have to see me off tomorrow,” she tells him as they part, smiling reassuringly when he  frowns. “Get some rest.”

Wakatoshi merely nods then, watching her get into the elevator. He stands still, arms pressed to his sides as the doors slide close, not leaving until the carriage has ascended to the second floor.

 

**< I’m on my way home.**

It has become customary for Wakatoshi to send such messages, no matter how late (or early in the morning) it is. He's been told it's polite and Wakatoshi is a man who values courtesy. He doesn’t expect a reply but isn’t entirely surprised when he gets one.

 **> I’ll start the bath  
** **> ?**

Does he want to have a bath? It’s rounding up one in the morning. He had spent the evening walking around with a stiff posture, a bit of a soak should do him good.

**< I would like that. Thank you.**

**> ( • ̀ω•́ )b**

Wakatoshi smiles at the emoticon.

 

The living room lights are on when he gets home. A radio is playing some song Wakatoshi thinks he's heard in a commercial before. A low voice is humming along to it but it stops as soon as Wakatoshi steps foot in the living room.

"Welcome back," Tendou Satori greets him with a weary smile. The lines under his eyes seem more pronounced with the late hour. A coffee mug serves as a paperweight on a stack of scripts, storyboards and drawing materials littered elsewhere over the low table. "Your bath is ready."

"Thank you. Aren't you going to sleep yet?"

"In a bit. I got loads of sleep this afternoon, napping is pretty contagious, you know."

No, Wakatoshi does not know but he has a better question in mind, "How's Akira?"

"Sleeping like a baby," Tendou answers, exhaustion lining his words. "He keeps waking up every few hours. Ah, but don't worry," he quickly adds, seeing Wakatoshi's brows furrow. "He took his meds and hasn't called for me in like" he checks the wallclock "fifty minutes. I expect his fever will let up soon."

"I hope it does."

"Did you have fun tonight?" Tendou asks, turning down the radio as the DJ comes up and starts taking calls for what sounds like an advice column.

Wakatoshi thinks about his mother's sudden interest in matchmaking. "It was eventful."

Amusement flickers over Tendou's face. "'Course it was. Now go take your bath!"

With a nod, Wakatoshi heads off, disappearing into his bedroom. He emerges five minutes later in his undershirt and boxers, a towel hanging off his arm. Tendou is still scribbling in the living room. Wakatoshi turns his attention to the door across his bedroom, it’s slightly open and he can see dim lamplight from the inside.

“Tendou.”

The redhead looks up, blinking. “Hm?”

“Do you mind if I check on him?” Wakatoshi feels awkward at having to ask.

An easy smile precedes Tendou’s response, immediately putting Wakatoshi at ease. “You don’t have to ask, Toshi. Just be quiet, yeah?”

Nodding, Wakatoshi crosses the short hallway and peers inside. There’s a small lump on Tendou’s bed, a wash basin with a cloth sits on the floor closeby, and a glass of water beside the lamp on the nightstand. Quiet breathing fills the room and Wakatoshi is glad to note that it doesn’t sound laboured in the least. Good.

He exits without a word, pulling the door back to its previous slightly ajar angle. The bathroom is between the two bedrooms, a faint mist blows past when he enters. Wakatoshi's mind goes blissfully blank as he soaks.

  
There is nothing to worry about.


	2. Chapter 2

“Would you quit that?” Shirabu’s tone is severe, the slap of his hand loud enough to get a few people looking over. Beside him, Tendou’s got both hands up -- one of them holding a tub of wax, the other smeared with the cream-colored substance.

Semi, who has been watching the playfight for the better part of five minutes, goes, “Hey.”

Shirabu tenses up, he does that a lot lately whenever he hears the other setter’s voice.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

Tendou blinks. And here he thought Semi was backing him up. His head tilts 90 degrees to the right, mouth gone vertically obloid, like a baby chick waiting to be fed. A voiceless ‘Whaaaaaaaaaat?’ escapes him.

Shirabu’s frown etches deeper. “He’s not my mom.”

“Of course he is,” Semi counters, walking up to Tendou and slinging an arm over his shoulders. “He’s the team mom.”

“I am?” Tendou is surprised. Semi nods emphatically.

 

A sudden shout from the first years divert their attention. “Ah crud! I got the wrong uniform.” There’s a chorus of laughter as Akakura holds up the purple and white spandex of the Shiratorizawa cycling team.

“I didn’t know your brother was on the cycling team,” Goshiki says, picking up one end of it to admire the patterns and gradients.

“It’s my sister’s,” Akakura hisses, prompting a renewed round of laughter.

“Oh.” Goshiki drops the hem, color rising to his cheeks.

“You lot sure are rowdy this morning~”

The first years immediately straighten up. “Tendou-senpai!”

“What’s--” Tendou gasps. “Oh my gosh that jersey’s so cool!”

“I-It’s… I brought it by mistake,” Akakura says.

“Why can’t we have cool designs like this?” Tendou clicks his tongue. “You gonna wear this to practice?”

“Um. No… but…”

“ _Buuut?_ ”

Akakura squirms. “I don’t have my practice clothes with me.”

“Huh. Any of you first years got extra?” Tendou eyes them expectantly but no one seems to have brought any. “Right then, we’ll find you something to wear, don’cha worry~” Looking around the wide expanse of the gym, Tendou spots someone just coming out of the locker room. “Hey Hayato!”

“Yeah?” the libero shouts from across the floor.

“You got extra clothes? Kai forgot his jersey!”

 

“He’s overbearing,” Shirabu mutters, fixing his hair where Tendou had slapped on some styling wax before he slipped away to meddle with the first years.

“It comes from a good place,” Semi assures him, watching  the scene unfold with amusement.

“If anyone should be team mom, it should be Ohira-san,” Shirabu says, just to further his argument.

“Reon?” Semi finds the aforementioned spiker already on the court, tossing to Ushijima. “He’s all right but Tendou nags more.”

“Let’s take a vote then,” Shirabu proposes.

 

There are 36 members on the Shiratorizawa Volleyball team, an even split if they take out the team mom candidates Ohira and Tendou. Semi and Shirabu conduct their survey in secret the entire week, even getting caught by the Assistant Coach who laughed when he found out what it was for; he put in a vote for Ohira before waving them off. Soekawa took his time casting a vote but ultimately chose Tendou because “he’s like the cool mom nobody wants to cross.” Neither of them were keen on approaching their captain on the subject but as the survey stands at the moment, Ohira and Tendou were at a tie. They cornered him during lunch period when neither candidates were around.

“Team mom?” Ushijima has put down his sandwich, looking at the sheet of paper with a tally of names.

Semi is prepared to do his speech on how every team has one, plus the defining traits of the team mom when Ushijima hands him back the paper.

“It’s Soekawa.”

If not for his huge amount of respect for the man, Shirabu would’ve smacked him. Composing himself, he goes, “Soekawa-san isn’t a candidate.”

“Why not? He’s the vice captain.”

“Being vice captain doesn’t automatically make someone the team mom.”

“But at Karasuno…”

“Yes, we know, but this isn’t Karasuno,” Semi interjects, coming to Shirabu’s rescue. “Hell, Seijo has Oikawa as team mom and he’s their captain.”

Shirabu adds, “It’s really up to the members to decide on who they feel is their team mom so--”

“Tendou,” Ushijima says, a second before an overtly cheerful “Hey guys!” precedes the redhead’s arrival.

“What’s up?” Tendou is all smiles, his food tray nearly sliding off the table with his exuberant entrance.

“Nothing!” Semi is quick to hide the survey paper behind his back.

“We were just going.” Shirabu tugs Semi out the cafeteria, ignoring Tendou’s shout of “Whaaat? You’re gonna ask for Wakatoshi’s blessing  but not mine? Rude!”

“Blessing?” Ushijima asks once Tendou has settled into the seat across him. “Why would they want my blessing?”

Beaming, Tendou pats his shoulder. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Toshi~”

* * *

Wakatoshi doesn’t skimp on practice, even on his off days. His morning run takes him twice around the neighborhood, passing by a local elementary school where most of the children wore facemasks.

There had been a bout of chickenpox going around recently. Wakatoshi knows this first hand and he can only be glad that Akira is well into the recovery stage by now. Even if Akira had to miss a week of school, he remains diligently on top of his assignments. In fact, Wakatoshi returns from his run to find the boy scrawling over worksheets in the livingroom. For a second he thinks it’s Tendou -- they have the same red hair and slouched posture -- but the figure is much smaller, dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.

“Good morning,” Wakatoshi makes his presence known, getting a muffled response. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

Akira nods. “Satori made porridge before he left for work. There’s some for you on the stove.”

The pot is still warm when Ushijima checks. He pours his share into a bowl and takes the empty spot across Akira on the low table. Wakatoshi eats and Akira does his homework in companionable quiet. There's a crumpled foil of some medicine tablet beside Akira’s glass of water. Wakatoshi is glad to see it, even noting the fading spots that cover the back of the boy’s hand as it glides across the worksheet.

“Can I help with laundry today, Tojisan[1]?” Akira breaks the silence with a careful proposition.

Wakatoshi’s expression remains bland. “You're not well enough to do heavy chores. Rest so you can recover faster.”

The pencil halts, squeezed tight between small fingers. “I'm bored.” It's not like him to be so petulant, but he has been bedridden the past week; Wakatoshi may not know the restlessness that comes with being cooped up for so long but he can sympathize.

Furthermore, he’d rather not go through the ordeal again. “I'm sorry, Akira, but we’d best avoid a relapse of your condition. Your father has just gotten some peace of mind back and I’d like for him to keep it.”

Akira just stares at him then, Wakatoshi takes the opportunity to finish his food; Tendou’s culinary skill has improved somewhat. Akira is still staring. “Yes?”

“I think it's weird,” Akira says. “That you and Satori are friends.”

Wakatoshi takes a moment to respond. “You wouldn't be the first one to think that. What made you say so?”

“He’s aloof, he’s still into gachapons at his age, and he insists that I address him with his first name.” Above the cut of the facemask, Akira's eyes are narrowed. “I know he was young when I was born but… it's like growing up with a weird older brother than being raised by my father.”

Wakatoshi absorbs the confession. It's half past eight on a Tuesday morning and this isn't what he’s used to. Four years he has lived with them under the same roof but he never really delved into their story beyond the fact that Tendou is a single parent. Perhaps that was an oversight on his part. He and Akira have gotten along fine all this time, enough apparently for the boy to trust him with rather personal opinions. “Despite that,” Wakatoshi feels the need to defend his long-time friend, his _best friend_ as Tendou has called them numerous times. “Tendou has done his utmost to provide for you. I think that's commendable of him.” A pause and then he adds, “You should talk to him about these things if they really bother you.”

“You're easier to talk to,” Akira tells him and it's the first time Wakatoshi has heard it. Usually people don't take to his no-nonsense conversational approach. “You're like a proper adult. You take things seriously. You're… respectable.”

It's a compliment certainly but it sits sour at the back of his throat. Wakatoshi wishes he knew where it was coming from. “And so you find it unusual that Tendou and I are friends?”

“Satori doesn't have friends,” Akira says with utmost certainty that only a child can afford. “He has people he annoys.”

Wakatoshi would counter it’s untrue but Akira isn't wrong. Tendou’s excessively forthcoming attitude isn't very palatable for most people. Wakatoshi supposes that constant exposure to it has made him immune. Better yet, “I’ve come to appreciate Tendou’s exuberance even if it does have its pitfalls.”

Akira hums as if mulling over the response. “Don’t you have other friends?”

To say that Wakatoshi is taken aback by the question is putting it lightly. It must have shown on his face for Akira is already retracting his words.

* * *

“Don't you have any friends?”

Ushijima looks up, meeting wide eyes and thin lips hitched in a pout.

“Can I sit here?” The boy reiterates his question when Ushijima fails to respond promptly.

There are other spaces available in the cafeteria but he still stands before him, smiling. It's been a while since someone offered to sit with him, they always get bored or uncomfortable with his sparse responses in the end. Ushijima doesn't have anything to lose.

“Great!” Spiky red hair sways as the boy takes his seat with a flourish. “I'm Tendou Satori and I'm new here. Pleased to make your acquaintance, O Great Ushiwaka~”

His brows meet in the middle without his bidding. “My name is Ushijima. Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

“Everyone calls you Ushiwaka though,” Tendou says matter-of-factly. “It sounds cool, like a pro. Don't you like it?”

“I prefer to be called by my name.”

“Ah.” Tendou stabs the straw into his juice box without looking. “Then Wakatoshi it is~ You can call me Satori~” he winks.

“Tendou should be fine.”

“Okey-dokey, Wakatoshi~”

* * *

“I’m sorry, Tojisan.” Akira bows his head, straight-cut bangs swishing with the sudden move. “It was rude of me to ask.”

“I… It's all right.”

Akira truly is Tendou’s son, even beyond their shared genetics, their keen perception and brazen personalities would be hard to mistake for anyone else. Right now it feels as if Wakatoshi is talking to a Tendou from decades past.

“It's for my homework,” Akira says, still sounding apologetic. “I'm supposed to write about my family and I thought… Well, you're family, aren't you?”

Wakatoshi... isn't turned off by the idea. “I suppose I am.”

“You are,” Akira confirms. On the paper before him, the family tree has ‘Tojisan’ written neatly in pencil.

Wakatoshi is well past the point of correcting the misnomer. But it's placement on the family tree makes him ask, “Shouldn't I be on the Uncles’ column?”

Akira frowns at his paper, at the additional branch he’d connected to the parents’ level. Wakatoshi’s name is neatly spaced beside Satori, on the other side of Satori’s name is Michiko. There are no names above Michiko. “It makes more sense here.”

There's no more argument to be had when Akira says it like that. So Wakatoshi nods and finishes his porridge. He had asked Tendou before about Akira’s absent mother. The only response he got was that she was a smart woman and he never asked again. It would make sense that Akira would know more, he knows her name at least -- Michiko. Wakatoshi can't recall if he had known any Michikos from his years at Shiratorizawa; Tendou must have met her in University. Given Akira's age, they must have had him during their University years too, if not immediately after.

It's not his place to be nosy, but his mother’s advice from the previous night echoes in his mind. Even though it could still be a long while before she starts setting him up, he feels extremely unprepared. Wakatoshi doesn't know if there's any way to prepare for such things.

“Akira.”

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me about your father and Michiko?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Wakatoshi/ **To** shi + **Ojisan** (uncle) = Tojisan!  [return]

**Author's Note:**

> this is much less planned than my usual works but my ao3 is rotting  
> so i say fuck it heres some new content


End file.
